


Amber Skies

by HartCore



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Five Years Later, Gen, Golden Deer My Unit | Byleth, Kronya - Freeform, Monica von Ochs - Freeform, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), byleth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HartCore/pseuds/HartCore
Summary: Five years have passed since the tragedy of Garreg Mach.Byleth emerges from their slumber with a sea of conflict raging in their mind, and finds they cannot take a single step without reminiscing on the past. Seeking salvation, they make their way to the rubble-bound academy, only to be greeted with a familiar face who may be more welcome than once thought.
Relationships: Kronya/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. Getting to See you

It was a cold evening in Fodlan, the day of the former millennium festival. It hadn’t been celebrated in years, what with Garreg Mach being destroyed five years prior. Sort of seemed pointless to celebrate such an event without one of the integral factors involved. Yet despite this, someone found their way to the ruins, someone who, by all extensive accounts, should have been dead. A tall, dark figure, clad in cracked grey armour with a flowing black overcoat and emerald hair. Their name? Byleth.

Byleth didn’t even let out an exhausted groan as they reached the crumbled gates, hours after setting off from the base of the mud-soaked hills. Time meant nothing to the mercenary, they had a promise to fulfil after all. As they remembered the faces of the students they had come to know and love, they came to let out a small laugh at the very idea that a simple fleeting exchange of words could have possibly forced them out of a half-decade long coma. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a coincidence, maybe the man that relayed this information in the village down below was just delusional, but that didn’t matter. Byleth had something to live for.

Nobody was present as of yet though, only the former teacher and their thoughts. Grazing a gloved hand across the cracked pillars, Byleth idly watched the skies, which were clouded by flares and smoke. A war had certainly broken out, which was no surprise. The actions of… her… were unforgivable, and yet Byleth couldn’t help but feel ashamed. If they had listened more or took some initiative they could have prevented this entire thing from happening. Fodlan would be peaceful, the nations would be friendly, father would still be-

No. That one couldn’t change. That was out of their hands, out of everyone’s hands. Remembering him just brought wave after wave of conflicting energy into Byleth’s mind. Jeralt was a wonderful man, so big, strong and comforting, they felt so happy to have such a warm presence in their subconscious, and simultaneously torn apart by having to remember that that was the only place he would ever be from now on. A figment, a memory. Byleth swooned slightly, stumbling against the chiselled bricks that made up the hallways to try and regain some composure lest the students arrive.

The mercenary stumbled through the halls, fighting back beloved memories to try and remain as stoic as possible. It was what they were known for, their stone poker face, it had helped them to always remain authoritative in the face of adversity. Even with nobody present, Byleth couldn’t help but hide their emotions, it was a force of habit embedded deep within their body at this point. Administering a swift punch to their own gut and letting out a slight grunt to try and ‘convince’ themselves to not be weak (Before letting out a subsequent ‘ow’ from hitting the leather-bound armour plating across their waist), Byleth made their way up to the Goddess tower, at least there they could feel no shame in shedding a tear. Emotions were what it was for after all.

The Goddess tower was a tall, slim spire located toward the rear end of Garreg Mach’s cathedral. A flight of black metal stairs trickled up the height of the tower, leading into a single floor just under the roof that had a shallow balcony and an observatory-like triangular window in one of the faces of the ceiling. The floor at the top was wide and open, being cuboidal with several archways adorning each wall, between which were several wall-grown shrubs and vines. It was comforting, having life so high up, but also slightly chilling to know that vegetation had snuck its way through the bricks, which practically destined the tower to shatter at some point. But it stood for now, and that was all that mattered.

As Byleth reached the top floor, they were shocked to discover that they weren’t the only one there. But they had expected to see Claude, or hell even Yuri, as if waiting in the most climactic spot possible to make a grand re-entrance into their life. But instead, they saw someone else, someone they didn’t quite recognize. The figure, partially obscured by the glistening light of the window and a horned hood, stood fairly short, just over five feet tall, and had slowly turned to face the mercenary as soon as the sound of their footsteps stopped, just shy of the end of the steps. Byleth peered as hard as they could, just trying to discern details without making eye contact straight away.

The slim figure was wearing what appeared to be a black, tight fitting leotard, with a diamond-like gap in the centre, exposing their navel. Well it would, if not for the hastily applied grey bandages coiled around their waist and chest. These same bandages wrapped around each of their legs, beneath which seemed to be torn threads of dim nylon with metallic orange clasps securing the makeshift legwear to the leotard. Looking closely, Byleth could see that the person’s boots actually lacked bottoms, with the glossy material tapering off into messily stitched stirrups where the soles clearly should have been. The same treatment had been given to their arms, with the bandages from before curling tightly around their shoulders and upper arms, leading into pointed black and orange high fingerless gloves that were wrapped in arrow-like material of a similar motif. The figure’s torso was held in a gunmetal harness that held a holster on each shoulder, with a black veil being held between the straps and resting on their chest. The hood that Byleth had noticed was similarly messily attached to the leotard, with what appeared to be shattered boot-heels forming a set of three ridged and uneven spikes across the top.

“You’re here. Finally…”

Byleth was about to interject, before the figure swiftly prowled toward them, yanking the hood down and revealing a mess of orange hair, held back ever so slightly by a pointed hairband that appeared to be made of the same fragments of heels as the horns of the hood. Byleth knew that face as soon as those ruby eyes glared straight through them.

“Finally, you can kill me.”

It was her without a doubt. She was slimmer and paler than before, as if that was even possible, however not in any sort of intentional or pandering way. She looked malnourished, ghostly even. Her hair, once covering half of her face, had been pulled back by the makeshift headband, showing her darkened red eyes with smudged tear decals adorning her cheeks. Her once pale grey skin had turned a pure white at this point, with deep black and purple scale-like marks dotted across her face. These marks were visible on other exposed parts of her skin as well, which were few and far between, ironic considering how she looked when they last met. Could this really be her?

Was this really Kronya?

The Agarthan let the silence linger for a few more moments before deciding to speak again, this time fully exerting herself. Her voice was mostly the same, however lacked the sickly sweet singsong tones of yesterfiveyear. 

“You probably have a lot of questions. So did I. After those bastards ripped my heart out I should have perished. I SHOULD have. But you heard, you heard me. You heard me plead for help as you were engulfed by those damn fires,” She gritted her teeth slightly, reaching up and pushing a hand against Byleth’s chest. Her fingers curled slightly against the plating, “I don’t know what I was asking for help for. Did I want you to save me, or did I want to be put out of my misery? The toll I’ve put this body through for the sake of my people, just to be murdered, did I really have any reason for living? Any other Agarthan could have taken my place, and yet they chose me. They chose me to kill. They chose me TO kill.” 

Her hand curled into a fist and she pounded it against Byleth’s chest armour, thumping them as hard as she could. It wasn’t too impactful, only making them stagger slightly against the wall.  
“What am I even saying? I killed your father, I shouldn’t have to justify your anger. Send me to hell where I belong. Please. I don’t want another day of knowing I could have just stood my damn ground.”

Byleth’s own fist curled, but relaxed a moment later. Yes, this was the woman that killed their father. If it were any other circumstance, their sword would have sliced through this goblin. But this seemed… Different. Kronya’s eyes pierced through them again, her top lip twitching into a snarl.

“Say something. Anything. Call me vermin, make me repent for my sins with my blood or something. Tell me to die, tell me exactly how you’ll kill me, I’ll welcome it, I don’t care.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes, and she pounded Byleth’s chest once more.

“Just. SPEAK. I’m literally the villain here, and you know it.”

Villain. That was a word Byleth hadn’t thought of in a long time. The students of Garreg Mach, the Knights of Seiros, even petty thieves. There was no such thing as a villain, only conflicting ideals. A shudder trailed down their spine as they came to the conclusion, even regarding the actions performed by the Black Eagles on that fateful day five years ago. There was no such thing as a story that was simply black and white. No thief without a cause, no revolution without a dream. They placed a hand on Kronya’s shoulder.

“You aren’t.”

This only made Kronya more angry. She growled audibly, shoving Byleth as hard as she could and causing their back to hit the wall. Her tears were trickling down her cheeks at this point as she shoved them again.

“That’s not how this works! I have my reasons, they’re not good enough ones to put me in any good books. I can whine about the tests, the manipulations, the abuse, nothing will rectify what I’ve done. Now, speak again and tell me what we both know.”  
Byleth nodded their head, keeping their hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. They looked calmly into her burning eyes, blinking a single time.

“I already have.”

The room fell silent once more. Kronya’s glare was broken, and she shut her eyes tight before turning away from the mercenary. Her outfit’s back was similar to the front, bandages and bruises and all.  
“I don’t need your sympathy.” The redhead spoke bluntly, crossing her arms and taking a few steps forward to the balcony. She groaned, leaning against the cobbled railing and letting her head hang low, a few strands of hair hanging idly down her forehead. She held herself tight, even pushing her legs together and wrapping one leg around the other.  
Byleth ambled across to where she stood, leaving a half-meter distance between them as they looked across the hills and fields from their perch. They looked back at the assassin, reaching out once more before retracting their hand and letting out a sigh.

“Maybe you don’t. But I’m happy to offer it.” The mercenary spoke up after a few more moments of silence between them, watching the redhead idly. Kronya twitched a little, slowly turning her head to look at the green haired newcomer. And then it happened: She let out a laugh. Not a cackle, a giggle or a spiteful scream, just a small, nasal laugh. 

“If you say so. Who knows, maybe this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“It could very well be.”

“Better be a friendship that ends with me getting impaled.”

“Don’t push it.”


	2. Getting to Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the story can begin, we must go back to a time before enlightened ones and creator swords. Before beasts and betrayal. To a time... A few years prior.

Shambhala was the pinnacle of all things Agarthan. Dark, drab, with a hint of cybernetic enhancement and immoral actions. Soldiers that had been bred ‘perfectly’ for generations, stewing a grudge that had lasted centuries after being forced underground by a higher power that was a bit too high and mighty for all the wrong reasons. Blood was a weapon for the inhabitants, it was a driving force to continue on with their experiments and eventual upheaval of the outside world’s order.

In the waning years of Shambhala’s preparations, maybe a five years or so, the frequency of blood experiments had risen. Lined up in the catacombs were cells and cages filled with people that had been stolen and whisked away from the lands above. The cellars were just like any other interior in the land, being angled, formed of dark and blackened Agarthium plating and blinding streaks of blue and red light tubing. The main difference was the presence of purple, flame-like walls that extruded from the floor, separating all sorts of captives.

There were elderly humans, young infants, even the occasional stone user like a Manakete or Taguel, stolen away from civilizations countless ships away. There were even some speculated Nabateans strewn through the occasional restricted areas. But one cell in particular held a duo of unlikely inhabitants. Two redheads, a human and an Agarthan. The Agarthan’s skin was as white as snow, and her body was slim and lean with a plain black jumpsuit covering it, contrasting that of the girl across from her. She was pale, but covered with the rosy blushes of an internal warmth, with a slightly wider frame that was visibly stamped with bruises and marks beneath a tattered black and gold uniform. 

“What’s your name?” Asked the human bluntly amidst the deafening silence, after weeks of the two sitting in solitude on opposite corners of the floor. The flame walls made no sound, however they blocked the sounds from within like a barrier, no doubt a provision put in place so that the guards wouldn’t have to deal with whines and screams from the prisoners. As the human awaited an answer, she gave a gentle smile to the girl a few meters across from her.

The Agarthan slowly looked up and rolled her eyes, before silently shaking her head and looking back down at the floor. The human shrugged her shoulders and continued to talk.

“Mine’s Monica,” She said, trailing off for a brief moment in the hope that it would invite her cellmate to reply (she didn’t), “I’m from a barony in the Fangs! Though I guess you don’t really know what that is, huh… Well, seeing as I’m probably not going to be going back there any time soon, that’s not going to be of much importance. I was sold after all, they gave me up willingly for t-”

“For the experiments, I know, I know. I’ve heard way too many of your kind prattling on about it, for some reason I always get lumped with them whenever I get sentenced. Punishment by repetition, I guess. Now please, be quiet.” The Agarthan spoke up, finally glaring at the girl past her pumpkin-coloured fringe. Monica was taken aback, but intrigued, shuffling a little closer.

“Sentenced? You’re an underground person though, why would they sentence you? Wouldn’t they want to use a soldier for experiments?” The human asked earnestly, wanting to take all she could get in terms of finally having a conversation. Her voice would occasionally crack with a few of her words, as if her body was surprised that she was finally allowed to speak again.

“I’m a delinquent, I suppose. Apparently they can’t have a revolutionary teenager in their ranks, so to avoid serving a dumb army I serve time instead for petty squabbles. Seems like quite a fair trade off, I reckon. I get peace and quiet, and I get to watch people squirm. Most of the time.” The Agarthan laughed a little as she thought about the once prominent solitude of the cell, being broken by what was effectively stairwell talk. Monica was again taken aback, though gave a little chuckle of her own.

“I never thought I’d see you emote, you’ve just been brooding the past few weeks. Your laugh is… Well, it’s pretty! Way nicer than some of the snooty people I deal with at home anyway. It’s all just ‘Blah blah, real estate, ohohoho~!’” Monica put on a voice, raising her head up and pointing her nose up to the ceiling as she made fun of the snobs of the upper classes. In doing so, she revealed a few more marks that had been made along her throat and the underside of her jaw.

“Thank you, Monica.” The agarthan said abruptly, letting out another little giggle as Monica killed the dark mood with her presence...

…”My name is Kronya.”

Several more weeks passed, and the two girls continued their banter and conversing. They learned of their worlds, their stories, their reasons. Every now and then, Monica would be taken away for more experiments, and would come back with open marks from where she had been cut and injected. She would always smile though, always telling her cellmate that she was able to stay hopeful, knowing that she had a friend to come back to after the torture was done.

Monica was the daughter of Baron Ochs. She was a student of Garreg Mach’s Officer Academy, though was stolen away before she could properly discover a skill. She bore no crest, and enjoyed horseriding, the little hard edges of slightly overdone pancakes, and making little jewels out of used tomes and song books. Her hair was a gorgeous crimson red, matching her eyes. Kronya would constantly rack these little details through her mind again and again whenever Monica wasn’t around, wanting to feel as if those hours weren’t the newly crowned loneliest of her life. As the absences came and went, Kronya felt her heart sink whenever she’d see a new bruise, and the slow fading of the colour from her hair.

Kronya was a seeker of revolution, daughter to nobody in particular. She despised the acts of the Agarthan army, wanting nothing more than for them to just build on the society that they had already crudely developed to the point of ludicrous advancement. Going to war with the less technologically advanced people above ground would be like a horse fighting a gerbil; Nothing but a pointless power trip. She enjoyed gymnastics, reading, and, as it would soon turn out, vengeance. Upon seeing a soldier get tripped by a prisoner, Kronya had let out a hearty chuckle, adoring the idea of one day inflicting violence on the city that done her so much wrong. Monica would wake up from her treatments and recall as much as she could about her companion to make sure she hadn’t lost her memories in the process.

It was a day like any other, as in it was impossible to tell if it was day or not. Monica and Kronya were both still sitting slouched over in their cell, against the one wall that wasn’t made of fire. Monica, whose hair at this point was almost as white as an Agarthan’s skin, rested her hand gently on Kronya’s, placing a little stone on top of it. On closer inspection, it was a bit of the light tubing from the floor with a black Agarthium pebble lodged inside. Kronya tilted her head and looked to the girl beside her.  
“I told you, I made jewels. Normally they’re a bit more glamorous than that though. So consider it an I-O-U!” Monica giggled, though the cell yet again fell silent as she watched Kronya admire the fractal.  
“Let’s get out of here. Together,” She then said, much to the surprise of Kronya, “It could be today, it could be next year. We’re going to make it out of here.”  
Kronya felt nothing was more appropriate than a firm nod, with an almost confident smirk.  
“My current sentence ends pretty soon, conveniently enough. I could probably slither my way into them letting me ‘keep’ you as some sort of personal test subject or something. Then we leave alongside the army and bolt out of here for good.” She placed her hand back on Monica’s.  
“Then ‘pretty soon’ it is.”

‘Pretty Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough, however.

As another few day-lengths passed, the cell walls suddenly extinguished themselves, revealing an Agarthan mage, donning that always disturbing plague-like mask. The mage gestured for Kronya to stand up, before pulling her from the cell. So as not to rouse suspicion, she didn’t look back at her cellmate. The past few times Kronya had been freed with a simple shove and a warning, however this time was different. She was still being escorted through the cavalcades of catacombs with the goggled, bird-faced mage directly behind her. Eventually she was coaxed and led into another room. It was the size of the cell she had just been in, with nothing in it but a single pale blue table. Before she could ask a question, a blindfold was placed over her eyes, and her right hand was forced open by what felt like a pin. She felt something get forced into it, cramping her fingers around some sort of handle before feeling several other hands push against hers to keep the object in her hand.

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on here? You’re not gonna make me into some sorta illegitimate martyr, are you?” She asked, struggling to pull her hand free as she heard several sets of footsteps enter the room. At this point another set of hands slammed themselves over her ears and held her head straight, deafening and dizzying her. A few seconds passed, with her being too shocked to even speak due to the loss of all her other senses. Then she was pushed forward, her hand gripping the object tightly out of instinct as she bumped into something hard. Was this the high leader’s idea of some sort of beating? The ringing in her ears slowly began to fade away as she fell to the ground. First she heard laughter, cheering, jeering. Then she heard clapping. Then a clang as her wrist fell limp. And then-

“Hey... Hey, K-Kronya.”

The redhead’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of that voice. Now free to move her hands, she yanked the blindfold from her head, “Monica! What are you d-” The Agarthan froze.

Beside her on the tiled floor layed Monica, pale, white haired and smiling weakly. Her hand rested softly on the Agarthan’s arm, which was positioned just in front of her waist. In front of Kronya’s hand, right in the middle of Monica’s torso, was a bloodied stab wound, and beneath it laid the object that she was just forcefully wielding: A blade. The wound was visible and rapidly making marks beneath Monica’s grayed shirt, once a pure white from the stories she had told about her days in Garreg mach, now stained by the colour that had once adorned her head.

“No, No no no. No! You bastards! Why me?! Why… Why her?” Kronya wept and screamed as the onlookers around her grew in number. She got to her knees, pulling Monica up with her and cradling her. She leaned close, her head pushing against her chest and hearing her heart get slower and slower. Monica let out a quiet pant, using her strength to place a hand on Kronya’s shoulder as blinking and breathing got harder and harder. 

“It’s quite simple really,” Piped up a mage from the front,” Her experiments were proving to be the most fruitful out of all of our non crest-bearing subjects. And you would have just committed another crime had we let you run free. We can’t have that, so why not kill two birds with one stone?” Kronya gritted her teeth, wanting to dash over and pull the mage’s throat clean out of his neck. But she didn’t want to let Monica out of her arms, and helplessly watched as she saw the life fade from her friend’s face.

“Come on, Monica, stay with me! You’re so strong, stronger than I could ever be, you don’t need me to be the person that kills you! Stay awake, stay awake!” Kronya pleaded, her eyes constantly flicking between watching Monica, glaring at the mages, and weeping uncontrollable tears that would constantly fall on Monica’s once red cheeks. Monica’s eyes, meanwhile, had forced themselves open, looking at her friend’s pained face as her mouth did its best to stay smiling.

“Mmmhh… It’s okay… K-Kronya… If I was go-oing to die a-anyway… I’m glad it… it could be beside…” 

The room fell silent. Monica’s hand had reached up to softly touch Kronya’s face, leaving a light red smear by her eye, before falling limp with a thud against her now still chest. The world went blank for the Agarthan at this point, cradling her friend and screaming as much as her body would allow for as she felt gusts of magic from the mages blast against the two of them. She fell back from the surge, hitting her head against the table and coming to rest in a crumpled heap beside the body of her Monica, her arms still tightly clutching as much as a knocked out body could.


	3. Getting to Understand You

“Monica was my best friend. She was my only friend. In a world that was completely devoid of any and all joy, I felt myself clutching the memories of her and the memories of her alone,” Kronya explained, sitting on one of the steps that spiraled its way up to the Goddess Tower balcony. Byleth nodded in understanding, having heard the whole story at this point, and sat beside her with no resistance. Again the former teacher resisted the opportunity to place their hand on her back in support.

“I woke up a few hours later, or so I assume. Monica’s body was long gone, and I was chained in a barracks above ground, surrounded by more of those bird-faced freaks. I didn’t know what was going on until I saw one of them brandish a pair of scissors. They swiped at my hair, of all things. That is to say, I thought it was my hair. When I saw the hairs on the floor, they… They were hers. I had failed. I couldn’t save my only friend from a grim fate, and what’s worse is I was now living proof of that.”

Byleth thought back to the time that they had gotten to know ‘Monica’ at Garreg Mach.  
“Then why were you so cheerful? Surely you could have busted their plans and gotten revenge?”

Kronya shook her head, and looked up at Byleth with frustrated, teary eyes.

“While I was out, they figured out my attachment. To force me to co-operate, they targeted the one thing that mattered to me, even after ripping it from my hands. They told me that if I didn’t go along with the plan, they’d make sure that Baron Ochs was spared in the eventual purge.”

Byleth’s eyes widened. The Agarthans were still out there, and even now they were planning a purge? Before they could enquire, Kronya continued. 

“I didn’t want to let Ochs live. The man that doomed her to that fate should burn alongside everyone else. So I accepted, but I accepted with my own twist. In living as Monica, I would corrupt the world’s memory of her. A world that didn’t help her, a world that left her for dead, they didn’t deserve to remember the girl I knew,” Kronya stated, her fingers clawing at her knees as she remembered the past. She gritted her teeth, immediately continuing her monologue to distract herself.

“So there you go. I lived as a corrupted version of my only friend. I got obsessed with that one moment of vengeance, and took out my rage on anyone and everyone that passed me. And unfortunately, that included… Y’know.”

Byleth bit back a sigh as they remembered the incident. Their father was a victim of circumstance. In another timeline, had Kronya opened up, Jeralt more than likely would have been the first person to welcome her with open arms. But in a way, it was comforting to know the truth, and it was comforting to know that it had allowed them the clarity to see past the black and white of good and evil, which Kronya’s actions had been the epitome of.

“I want to stop them. I want to stop them from doing this to anyone ever again. For every year in hell that I’ve earned, I’ll give fifty to the bastards that caused all of this,” The redhead quickly said, holding a slightly shaking hand out to Byleth, “We’ve both lost people we care about by my hand. Let it do right by you, and maybe I’ll spend a bit less time burning.”

Byleth looked down at the quivering reach, before nodding and taking a firm hold of Kronya’s hand, standing upright and bringing her with them.

“For Monica. For my father. And for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, okay, I'm back with a twofer! This was originally supposed to be in the previous chapter, but it felt a bit more appropriate as its own separate adendum piece. I've had the storyline planned out for months now and this mini-chapter wasn't exactly part of it, but hey, it doesn't derail the plan at all. I haven't written for a while so again, sorry for the pacing!

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating in my head for months now, I figured I'd finally jump on it. Sorry if it seems a little rushed, I've got a fair bit of story planned and wanted to cut it up into little chapters, so the ending of this one seems a little ham fisted, sorry! Hopefully when I get around to writing the next few chapters it'll be better paced. Hopefully I'll remember to update the tags with each new chapter as a lot of stuff will be introduced lmao  
> Anyway thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


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